Josh Groban - Your Raise Me Up
YOU RAISE ME UP
JOSH GROBAN
When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary;
When troubles come and my heart burdened be;
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence,
Until you come and sit awhile with me.
You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;
You raise me up: To more than I can be.
There is no life - no life without its hunger;
Each restless heart beats so imperfectly;
But when you come and I am filled with wonder,
Sometimes, I think I glimpse eternity.
You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;
You raise me up: To more than I can be.
Thursday, 19 October 2006
Sunday, 1 October 2006
HOW UGLY THE WORLD
Isn't it amazing at how the world is now gushing over London Fashion Week's "Size Zero" operation to boycott size zero models (read: models who are stick-thin and look near anorexic), while not much attention was given to what caused and sparked off this upheaval?
Does anyone know that someone died before due attention was given to the way how modelling industry works?
Luisel Ramos was just a 22-years-old lady with her whole life, and an entire future, laying ahead of her. (for goodness sake, I'm only 2 years younger than she!) But yet, a young life is cut off so abruptly without living to its fullest potential.
Must it always be the case, that actions are taken only when something bad has happened?
Must alarm bells sound only when something unfortunate has occured?
Couldn't anyone have done more??
Isn't it amazing at how the world is now gushing over London Fashion Week's "Size Zero" operation to boycott size zero models (read: models who are stick-thin and look near anorexic), while not much attention was given to what caused and sparked off this upheaval?
Does anyone know that someone died before due attention was given to the way how modelling industry works?
Luisel Ramos was just a 22-years-old lady with her whole life, and an entire future, laying ahead of her. (for goodness sake, I'm only 2 years younger than she!) But yet, a young life is cut off so abruptly without living to its fullest potential.
Must it always be the case, that actions are taken only when something bad has happened?
Must alarm bells sound only when something unfortunate has occured?
Couldn't anyone have done more??
BITTERSWEET
By Sara Kugler
ASSOCIATED PRESS
6:18 p.m. September 8, 2006
NEW YORK - Four-year-old Gabriel Jacobs inherited his dad's sandy hair, long nose and blue eyes. The day they buried what was left of his father - a piece of rib, part of a thigh bone, a bit of one arm - the boy released a balloon into the air, then turned that familiar face skyward to make sure his daddy caught it.
This is how a son reaches out to the father he never met. Ariel Jacobs died in the World Trade Center attack six days before his only child was born.
"When he sends a balloon up to the sky and he finally sees the tiny dot of the balloon go through the clouds, he says, 'OK, the balloon found the doorway to heaven, I think he has it now,'" says Gabi's mother, Jenna Jacobs-Dick.
There are dozens of children like Gabi Jacobs, born to Sept. 11 widows in the months after the attacks. Five years later, as they approach kindergarten, they are just beginning to grasp the stories of their fathers and of the day that changed their lives forever.
The first baby arrived just hours after the disaster, and the last nine months later. Some mothers only discovered they were pregnant after the dads were gone - including Rudolph Giuliani's longtime aide, who was married to fire Capt. Terence Hatton. The firefighter's daughter was born the next spring, and her mother named her Terri.
Their fathers were rescue workers, cops, restaurant waiters and stockbrokers. Their mothers, pregnant and alone when the dust of the towers settled, worried about the stress on their unborn children from the agony and shock. Some miscarried. One went into labor during her husband's memorial service.
Many moms broke down in the delivery room, where they tried to fill that empty space with photos, a police badge, a piece of clothing. Friends, sisters and in-laws with cameras and brave faces stood in for all those lost dads.
Each delivery was, all at once, wonderful and awful.
Julie McMahon remembers her son's birth in early 2002 as a day of jangled nerves. "It wasn't supposed to be this way," she thought.
She delivered baby Patrick while her husband, Bobby, a firefighter with natural athleticism and a love of photography, looked on from a picture on the bedside table. The photo captured a moment of pure happiness - Bobby, wearing a cap and a giant grin, leans over their first son Matthew, clutching a massive tuft of cotton candy.
Patrick arrived with Bobby's curly hair and lanky body, and has sprouted into a miniature version of his daredevil dad. The child took his mother's breath away recently when he bounded by, swinging his arms and moving his head just so – it was Bobby's carefree strut.
When James Patrick's son was born, everyone agreed it was like looking at his father - the same fair skin, blue eyes and brown hair, that certain way he moved his mouth. The Cantor Fitzgerald bond broker, ecstatic about starting a family, died seven weeks before Jack entered the world.
The boy is also playful and silly like his dad. His mother, Terilyn Esse, like many of the other 9/11 moms, cannot explain how the children acquired their fathers' personalities - the social grace, the twinkling eyes, a love of words or music.
But there is a word they all use to describe it.
"It's bittersweet," says Jacobs-Dick, whose husband was attending a conference at the World Trade Center. "He's a reminder of Ari, not just the fact that he existed, but of who he was because they're so similar, and I can appreciate Ari in the present through him."
She is careful, though, that Gabi doesn't grow up with the sense that he is here to take the place of his father, who wept at the doctor's office when he learned that the blur on the ultrasound was a boy.
It is an unfair burden for any child who has lost a parent, says Marylene Cloitre, director of the Institute for Trauma and Stress at the New York University Child Study Center. And because of the public tragedy, children of 9/11 victims might always feel pressure to represent something even larger.
"Which is very hard to do when you're 17 and you hardly know what you feel and think yourself," Cloitre said. "Like 'Oh, my father's a hero so I have to carry the heroic memory,' when they don't even know what that is or how to do that."
Cloitre is tracking 700 children who lost parents in the 2001 attack, each a study in grief and hardship.
But the 4-year-olds are unique: They are building images of their fathers from the wisps of other people's memories and photographs, without even the subconscious sense of long ago cuddles or kisses on the forehead.
As each child discovers a lost father's life, along come questions: How did Daddy die? Who are the bad guys? Where did the buildings go? When they cleaned up the buildings, did they clean up Daddy, too?
Cloitre says the conversation will change as they grow up. In a few years they will probably want to know whether their fathers would have loved them. As teens, they may wonder about identity - how am I like him?
"It sort of exhausts people - they wish it could be over, that they could just say one thing, but really, what to say today pales in the face of the real challenge, which is a lifelong dialogue with their child about who this person was," she said.
Already, some of these children can tell you Daddy died when bad guys took control of some airplanes, and then flew them into the towers. Others haven't even heard the word "terrorist" and don't know there was anything more than a big fire.
"There are always questions and things that come up, and sometimes I'm thinking, 'oh my gosh' - you try to buy time so you can come up with an answer and do the best you can," says Kimberly Statkevicus, whose second son was born four months after husband Derek died.
Their child, named after his father, turns 5 in January. He knows that a piece of bone was recovered from his father's right hand, and is matter-of-fact about what happened. "My daddy went to work one day and some bad guys came and knocked the buildings down and crushed him like a pancake," he explains.
He wonders why there are no photographs of him and his father, like his brother has. Sometimes, it upsets him.
Some of the questions of these fatherless children are easy: Did Daddy like mayonnaise or mustard? When he played baseball, did he strike people out?
Other times, they're more spiritual: Does he see me when I ride my bike?
For those answers, Terilyn Esse has taught Jack Patrick there is a special thing he can do.
"When he started to talk, I would ask him, 'Where does Daddy live?' And he would say 'In heaven,' and I would say, 'Who does he live with?'" she said. "And he would say 'With God and the angels,' and I would say 'If you want to talk to Daddy what do you do?'
"And he would say 'I close my eyes and look inside my heart.'"
http://www.signonsandiego.com/news/nation/sept11/20060908-1818-sept11-turning5.html
After reading this news article, I can't help experiencing a twinge of bittersweet tugging at my heartstrings.
Really ought to examine our life and prioritize who - or what - deserves more of our time and attention.
By Sara Kugler
ASSOCIATED PRESS
6:18 p.m. September 8, 2006
NEW YORK - Four-year-old Gabriel Jacobs inherited his dad's sandy hair, long nose and blue eyes. The day they buried what was left of his father - a piece of rib, part of a thigh bone, a bit of one arm - the boy released a balloon into the air, then turned that familiar face skyward to make sure his daddy caught it.
This is how a son reaches out to the father he never met. Ariel Jacobs died in the World Trade Center attack six days before his only child was born.
"When he sends a balloon up to the sky and he finally sees the tiny dot of the balloon go through the clouds, he says, 'OK, the balloon found the doorway to heaven, I think he has it now,'" says Gabi's mother, Jenna Jacobs-Dick.
There are dozens of children like Gabi Jacobs, born to Sept. 11 widows in the months after the attacks. Five years later, as they approach kindergarten, they are just beginning to grasp the stories of their fathers and of the day that changed their lives forever.
The first baby arrived just hours after the disaster, and the last nine months later. Some mothers only discovered they were pregnant after the dads were gone - including Rudolph Giuliani's longtime aide, who was married to fire Capt. Terence Hatton. The firefighter's daughter was born the next spring, and her mother named her Terri.
Their fathers were rescue workers, cops, restaurant waiters and stockbrokers. Their mothers, pregnant and alone when the dust of the towers settled, worried about the stress on their unborn children from the agony and shock. Some miscarried. One went into labor during her husband's memorial service.
Many moms broke down in the delivery room, where they tried to fill that empty space with photos, a police badge, a piece of clothing. Friends, sisters and in-laws with cameras and brave faces stood in for all those lost dads.
Each delivery was, all at once, wonderful and awful.
Julie McMahon remembers her son's birth in early 2002 as a day of jangled nerves. "It wasn't supposed to be this way," she thought.
She delivered baby Patrick while her husband, Bobby, a firefighter with natural athleticism and a love of photography, looked on from a picture on the bedside table. The photo captured a moment of pure happiness - Bobby, wearing a cap and a giant grin, leans over their first son Matthew, clutching a massive tuft of cotton candy.
Patrick arrived with Bobby's curly hair and lanky body, and has sprouted into a miniature version of his daredevil dad. The child took his mother's breath away recently when he bounded by, swinging his arms and moving his head just so – it was Bobby's carefree strut.
When James Patrick's son was born, everyone agreed it was like looking at his father - the same fair skin, blue eyes and brown hair, that certain way he moved his mouth. The Cantor Fitzgerald bond broker, ecstatic about starting a family, died seven weeks before Jack entered the world.
The boy is also playful and silly like his dad. His mother, Terilyn Esse, like many of the other 9/11 moms, cannot explain how the children acquired their fathers' personalities - the social grace, the twinkling eyes, a love of words or music.
But there is a word they all use to describe it.
"It's bittersweet," says Jacobs-Dick, whose husband was attending a conference at the World Trade Center. "He's a reminder of Ari, not just the fact that he existed, but of who he was because they're so similar, and I can appreciate Ari in the present through him."
She is careful, though, that Gabi doesn't grow up with the sense that he is here to take the place of his father, who wept at the doctor's office when he learned that the blur on the ultrasound was a boy.
It is an unfair burden for any child who has lost a parent, says Marylene Cloitre, director of the Institute for Trauma and Stress at the New York University Child Study Center. And because of the public tragedy, children of 9/11 victims might always feel pressure to represent something even larger.
"Which is very hard to do when you're 17 and you hardly know what you feel and think yourself," Cloitre said. "Like 'Oh, my father's a hero so I have to carry the heroic memory,' when they don't even know what that is or how to do that."
Cloitre is tracking 700 children who lost parents in the 2001 attack, each a study in grief and hardship.
But the 4-year-olds are unique: They are building images of their fathers from the wisps of other people's memories and photographs, without even the subconscious sense of long ago cuddles or kisses on the forehead.
As each child discovers a lost father's life, along come questions: How did Daddy die? Who are the bad guys? Where did the buildings go? When they cleaned up the buildings, did they clean up Daddy, too?
Cloitre says the conversation will change as they grow up. In a few years they will probably want to know whether their fathers would have loved them. As teens, they may wonder about identity - how am I like him?
"It sort of exhausts people - they wish it could be over, that they could just say one thing, but really, what to say today pales in the face of the real challenge, which is a lifelong dialogue with their child about who this person was," she said.
Already, some of these children can tell you Daddy died when bad guys took control of some airplanes, and then flew them into the towers. Others haven't even heard the word "terrorist" and don't know there was anything more than a big fire.
"There are always questions and things that come up, and sometimes I'm thinking, 'oh my gosh' - you try to buy time so you can come up with an answer and do the best you can," says Kimberly Statkevicus, whose second son was born four months after husband Derek died.
Their child, named after his father, turns 5 in January. He knows that a piece of bone was recovered from his father's right hand, and is matter-of-fact about what happened. "My daddy went to work one day and some bad guys came and knocked the buildings down and crushed him like a pancake," he explains.
He wonders why there are no photographs of him and his father, like his brother has. Sometimes, it upsets him.
Some of the questions of these fatherless children are easy: Did Daddy like mayonnaise or mustard? When he played baseball, did he strike people out?
Other times, they're more spiritual: Does he see me when I ride my bike?
For those answers, Terilyn Esse has taught Jack Patrick there is a special thing he can do.
"When he started to talk, I would ask him, 'Where does Daddy live?' And he would say 'In heaven,' and I would say, 'Who does he live with?'" she said. "And he would say 'With God and the angels,' and I would say 'If you want to talk to Daddy what do you do?'
"And he would say 'I close my eyes and look inside my heart.'"
http://www.signonsandiego.com/news/nation/sept11/20060908-1818-sept11-turning5.html
After reading this news article, I can't help experiencing a twinge of bittersweet tugging at my heartstrings.
Really ought to examine our life and prioritize who - or what - deserves more of our time and attention.
Saturday, 23 September 2006
Are You Ready?
Got this clip from Matthew's blog.
What a mighty wake-up call. The fear of the Lord struck me so strongly; as though someone had just poured a bucket of cold water over me.
A short clip nonetheless - but yet one that is packed with such powerful punches.
Really ought to examine our heart carefully.
Got this clip from Matthew's blog.
What a mighty wake-up call. The fear of the Lord struck me so strongly; as though someone had just poured a bucket of cold water over me.
A short clip nonetheless - but yet one that is packed with such powerful punches.
Really ought to examine our heart carefully.
Not everyone who says to Me, "Lord, Lord," shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven.
Many will say to Me in that day, "Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Your name, cast out demons in Your name, and done many wonders in Your name?"
And then I will declare to them, "I never knew you; depart from Me, you who practice lawlessness!"
Matt 7: 21 - 23 (NKJV)
Do not be deceived, God is not mocked;
for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap.
for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap.
Gal 6: 7 (NKJV)
When's the last time you had a breathtaking encounter with Him, touched by His Spirit, and not bearing to leave your prayer closet?
When's the last time you soaked in His Presence, basked under His love, and felt His idyllic peace deeply embedded and immersed in your soul?
How about having His Spirit connecting with yours, bringing you assurance, comfort, and joy?
Have you ever felt the way His Spirit suddenly manifesting in you, strengthening and touching you in a oh-so-tangible way that rendered you utterly amazed and awed speechless?
When is the last time you waited humbly and hungered ravenously for His presence, knowing jolly-well in your heart that what you're experiencing and feeling right now, is not His best yet?
How about lingering lovingly and willingly in His presence, yearning for just even one more touch from heaven?
But from there you will seek the LORD your God, and you will find Him if you seek Him with all your heart and with all your soul.
Deuteronomy 4: 29 (NKJV)
Put aside your calling and ministry just for a mere moment, and ponder over this honestly:
WHEN'S THE LAST TIME YOU ALLOWED ALL THESE - THAT I'VE MENTIONED ABOVE - TO HAPPEN?
We might be doing His Works, but are we carrying it out in a way that is pleasing to Him? Is there approval beaming out from His loving eyes as He looks on upon us? Or are we doing it out of obligation and expectations? Out of pride and absorbant self-image?
We may call upon His Name, but do we know Him personally?
Is your heart walking right before Him? Are you crucifying your flesh, or are you ravishing it?
Examine your heart.
I just did. =)
P.S. I certainly have no wish to be among the ones who got left behind. How terribly frightening, isn't it?
Tuesday, 22 August 2006
OH MY TIAN!!!
Pertaining to my blog entry entitled "My First Week In Campus", dated 19th August 2006 (Sunday), I made a shockingly astounishing discovery that, by right, should warrant me a modest Nobel Prize:
INTERNAL! SHUTTLE! BUS! C! TRAVELS! PASS! THE! FACULTY! OF! SCIENCE!!! !!! !!!
... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
Man, I feel downright dumb. Somebody throw me a knife.
(-_-")
Pertaining to my blog entry entitled "My First Week In Campus", dated 19th August 2006 (Sunday), I made a shockingly astounishing discovery that, by right, should warrant me a modest Nobel Prize:
INTERNAL! SHUTTLE! BUS! C! TRAVELS! PASS! THE! FACULTY! OF! SCIENCE!!! !!! !!!
... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
Man, I feel downright dumb. Somebody throw me a knife.
(-_-")
Sunday, 20 August 2006
The Five Love Languages
My primary love language is probablyQuality Time
with a secondary love language being
Physical Touch.
Complete set of results
| Quality Time: | 9 | |
| Physical Touch: | 8 | |
| Acts of Service: | 7 | |
| Receiving Gifts: | 3 | |
| Words of Affirmation: | 3 |
Information
Unhappiness in relationships, according to Dr. Gary Chapman, is often due to the fact that we speak different love languages. Sometimes we don't understand our partner's requirements, or even our own. We all have a "love tank" that needs to be filled in order for us to express love to others, but there are different means by which our tank can be filled, and there are different ways that we can express love to others.Take the quiz
Indeed, I do value quality time very highly. If you ask me, communication is THE main bridge that connects two people together, and THE main foundation on which strong relationships are built upon.
We can give without loving, but we can never truly love without giving. How can love be nurtured and maintained when one or both party are not willing to invest time to engage and understand each other better? How can anyone so claim to love when he/she is not even making time for the significant other?
One thing for certain - I definitely don't believe in telepathy.
Physical touch. It never fails to melt my heart whenever I catch sight of aged couples, with wrinkling skin and graying hair, still gently holding hands and gazing into each others' eyes lovingly after decades of marriage. Enough said. The mere image conjured by this sentence alone is powerful enough.
=)
Gifts and words of affirmation are not placed high in my priority list. Love, in my humble opinion, can never be measured materially. Gifts that are handmade and loaded with sincerity, efforts, and tender love are, of course, a totally different matter.
And people nowadays are so careless with their words. The word "love" is sooo mightly overused and tremendously under-estimated.
"I love to sleep."
"I love you."
What? Does this indirectly translated into that you love me as much, and as deeply, as you love your sleep?
See what I mean?
So don't heap and bombard your loved ones with expensive gifts or "I love you"s. Occasionally is fine, but don't smugly assume that that's all there is to it (fat hope). If love is so easy, then it is not real love. If love is so easy, Jesus would not need to die on the cross for us.
Rather, replace gifts and words of affirmation with acts of service. Surely actions speak louder than words. A simple act can travel a long mile and do wonders.
Do things that you would normally not do - even the little things which may seem insignificant.. Help him/her clean up his/her dog poo. Cook his/her favourite dishes. Make him/her a personal, handmade gift for special occasions. Bake him/her a humble cake. Aid in solving his/her problems. Render sound advices and honest opinions. Lend him/her your ears and shoulders. Speak encouragingly when the situation calls for it. Rebuke tenderly when the need arises. Surprise him/her with a, well, surprise.
Afterall, love is ultimately about sacrifices.
Saturday, 19 August 2006
I THINK I THINK TOO MUCH... (Pun intended)
So anyway, there I was, coughing lightly on the bus on this sweltering, late Friday afternoon, when the guy seated next to me suavely flashed his Smith mints and inquired, "Here, you want some mints?"
"Errmmm... No, thank you." I replied automatically.
"You sure?" came the reply.
"Yep, but thanks anyway." I affirmed and returned his kindness with a smile.
All of a sudden, I was sharply reminded of the infamous Smith mints commercials, all of which always involving the male lead popping one of the mints into his mouth to freshen his breath before the steamy act of... ahem... sharing saliva with his ahem - ahem.
Ahem! I'm perfectly aware that Mr. Gentleman was merely just being, well, gentlemen-ly, but I can't help feeling tickled in my ribs. The thought of how lame a pick-up line it would be (that is, if intended to be one) kept me amused for the whole of that day.
I seriously think I have a way too active brain and an imagination twice as fertile.
Not that I'm complaining, of course.
I like it that way, honestly.
P.S. Smith mints, anyone? *blinks innocently*
So anyway, there I was, coughing lightly on the bus on this sweltering, late Friday afternoon, when the guy seated next to me suavely flashed his Smith mints and inquired, "Here, you want some mints?"
"Errmmm... No, thank you." I replied automatically.
"You sure?" came the reply.
"Yep, but thanks anyway." I affirmed and returned his kindness with a smile.
All of a sudden, I was sharply reminded of the infamous Smith mints commercials, all of which always involving the male lead popping one of the mints into his mouth to freshen his breath before the steamy act of... ahem... sharing saliva with his ahem - ahem.
Ahem! I'm perfectly aware that Mr. Gentleman was merely just being, well, gentlemen-ly, but I can't help feeling tickled in my ribs. The thought of how lame a pick-up line it would be (that is, if intended to be one) kept me amused for the whole of that day.
I seriously think I have a way too active brain and an imagination twice as fertile.
Not that I'm complaining, of course.
I like it that way, honestly.
P.S. Smith mints, anyone? *blinks innocently*
MY FIRST WEEK IN CAMPUS
Surprisingly - for a typical, directionally-challenged girl who is capable of losing her way even in the heartlands - I did not encounter much difficulty adapting to the new, humongous campus environment; except for the 1st day of school on Monday, when I had trouble locating LT32 for my very 1st lecture.
So confident and pleased was I in my so-called "unexpected ingeniousness" that I started to take it for granted. After finishing my Reason and Persuasion lecture at the Faculty of Arts & Social Science on Friday, I decided to try a new route back to the Faculty of Science for my next lecture.
From the Faculty of Arts & Social Science, I took the Internal Shuttle Bus C back to Yusof Ishak House, where I alighted. After waiting (super-duper long) for either Bus 95 or Internal Shuttle Bus A2 to ferry me back to Faculty of Science, my sparkling and lovely eyes spotted Bus 151 coming my way. Recalling that I had seen Bus 151 somewhere (but regrettably, don't know where) - and plus the fact that my next lecture starts in a mere 10mins time - I boarded it without much delibration.
Wonder of wonders, Voila!
Before I knew it, the freaking bus EXITED right out of NUS.
(!!! !!! !!!)
What! on! earth! was! I! thinking!!!
Thus, I was late for my lecture by a grand 20mins; that is, after I made a successful detour into campus and, finally, expertly navigated my way back to the Faculty of Science.
It's times like this when I wish dearly for the ability to teleport.
(-_-")
Surprisingly - for a typical, directionally-challenged girl who is capable of losing her way even in the heartlands - I did not encounter much difficulty adapting to the new, humongous campus environment; except for the 1st day of school on Monday, when I had trouble locating LT32 for my very 1st lecture.
So confident and pleased was I in my so-called "unexpected ingeniousness" that I started to take it for granted. After finishing my Reason and Persuasion lecture at the Faculty of Arts & Social Science on Friday, I decided to try a new route back to the Faculty of Science for my next lecture.
From the Faculty of Arts & Social Science, I took the Internal Shuttle Bus C back to Yusof Ishak House, where I alighted. After waiting (super-duper long) for either Bus 95 or Internal Shuttle Bus A2 to ferry me back to Faculty of Science, my sparkling and lovely eyes spotted Bus 151 coming my way. Recalling that I had seen Bus 151 somewhere (but regrettably, don't know where) - and plus the fact that my next lecture starts in a mere 10mins time - I boarded it without much delibration.
Wonder of wonders, Voila!
Before I knew it, the freaking bus EXITED right out of NUS.
(!!! !!! !!!)
What! on! earth! was! I! thinking!!!
Thus, I was late for my lecture by a grand 20mins; that is, after I made a successful detour into campus and, finally, expertly navigated my way back to the Faculty of Science.
It's times like this when I wish dearly for the ability to teleport.
(-_-")
Saturday, 12 August 2006
MY TUMMYACHE DAYS...
It's official. (!!!)
CM1101 Principles of Modern Chemistry ........................ 27/11/2006 (Mon), PM
CM1111 Basic Inorganic Chemistry .............................. 29/11/2006 (Wed), PM
MA1421 Basic Applied Mathematics for Sciences ............ 05/12/2006 (Tues), PM
PR1301 Complementary Medicine & Health ................... 25/11/2006 (Sat), AM
PH1101E Reason and Persuasion ................................. 04/12/2006 (Mon), AM
SSA2211 The Evolution of a Global City-State ............... 01/12/2006 (Fri), PM
Unless there is/are tutorial timeslot clash(es), resulting in me dropping 1 or more of the above-mentioned modules; these are the ones that I will be taking for Semester 1 and the examination dates are as stated above.
Was consolidating my schedule [horrors!!! We have to plan our own timetable on top of the exorbitant tuition fees!!!] when the examination dates caught my dainty and pretty eyes. Isn't it amazing how as one advances on in education, the academic terms seem to shrink and become shorter and shorter?
Can't believe that my first paper is slanted to be on the 27th of November, which is just a mere 3.5 months away.
*agapes*
It's back to a dismal lifestyle of nerdy mugging, I suppose.
Bleah!
And it'll be another 3.5 months before the oh-so-familiar "pre-examination syndromes" come visiting me again. A stomach of brick and lead, butterflies, stomache, nausea, diarrhoea, blahblahblah - you name it, I'll experience it a couple of hours before the commencement of each and every paper. Boohoohoo...
I don't like examination periods.
*sulks* *pouts*
*and bleah!!!*
It's official. (!!!)
CM1101 Principles of Modern Chemistry ........................ 27/11/2006 (Mon), PM
CM1111 Basic Inorganic Chemistry .............................. 29/11/2006 (Wed), PM
MA1421 Basic Applied Mathematics for Sciences ............ 05/12/2006 (Tues), PM
PR1301 Complementary Medicine & Health ................... 25/11/2006 (Sat), AM
PH1101E Reason and Persuasion ................................. 04/12/2006 (Mon), AM
SSA2211 The Evolution of a Global City-State ............... 01/12/2006 (Fri), PM
Unless there is/are tutorial timeslot clash(es), resulting in me dropping 1 or more of the above-mentioned modules; these are the ones that I will be taking for Semester 1 and the examination dates are as stated above.
Was consolidating my schedule [horrors!!! We have to plan our own timetable on top of the exorbitant tuition fees!!!] when the examination dates caught my dainty and pretty eyes. Isn't it amazing how as one advances on in education, the academic terms seem to shrink and become shorter and shorter?
Can't believe that my first paper is slanted to be on the 27th of November, which is just a mere 3.5 months away.
*agapes*
It's back to a dismal lifestyle of nerdy mugging, I suppose.
Bleah!
And it'll be another 3.5 months before the oh-so-familiar "pre-examination syndromes" come visiting me again. A stomach of brick and lead, butterflies, stomache, nausea, diarrhoea, blahblahblah - you name it, I'll experience it a couple of hours before the commencement of each and every paper. Boohoohoo...
I don't like examination periods.
*sulks* *pouts*
*and bleah!!!*
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